


A Sea Change

by wingthing



Series: The EQ Alternaverse [31]
Category: Elfquest
Genre: EQ Alternaverse, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 12:33:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4746605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingthing/pseuds/wingthing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young Quicksilver sails with the Pirates of Green Moon Bay, while struggling with her feelings for Suntop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

Quicksilver stared up at the glittering stalactites hanging over her head. Her grandmother Gullwing kept the little barque on course as the waves gently pulled them inside the cave. By the light of the lantern the rocks shimmered with hidden minerals. Menacing shadows rose in the corners of the cave. 

“It’s amazing,” Quicksilver whispered. 

“You can only come in through here during the evening low tide,” Gullwing explained in a hushed voice, as the close quarters of the tunnel magnified their voices. “During high tide this is all underwater. And during morning low the waves outside are too treacherous.” 

Quicksilver let her hand trail in the cool water. Now the waves were nothing more than gentle laps against the side of the boat. Gullwing kept them on course as they drifted deeper inside Race Rock. 

Goldcinder was waiting for them as reached the dock carved into the side of the cave wall. Gullwing tossed him the rope, and he threaded it through the heavy iron ring. He offered Quicksilver his arm as she hopped out of the barque. Her bare feet touched the stone steps – worn smooth as if they had been rockshaped. But she knew better. All the caves at Race Rock were made the hard way, through centuries of water courses and the toil of elf masons armed with chisels and hammers. 

“Welcome to Race Rock,” Goldcinder said. “The training ground for the best pirates to sail out of Green Moon Bay." 

Quicksilver grinned nervously. She was sixteen, and at last the secrets of her mother’s tribe would be revealed to her. At last she would sail on the _Lady Mura_. 

Gullwing and Goldcinder showed her to her room. It was a tiny little chamber hollowed out of a larger cave tunnel. But she never failed to be astounded at the care that went into the craftsmanship. A window-like semi-circle had been chiselled in bas-relief against the wall, and there was a little lantern filled with oil waiting for her. A clay jug of drinking water sat on the ledge next to the light. Her bed was a raised platform piled with soft bedding, and bound in one side by a carved ship’s railing. A careful borehole allowed moonlight to fall in and cast a gentle glow into the room. A heavy canvas partition hung by the bed, ready to be drawn if Quicksilver wanted extra privacy beyond the wooden door that swung on oiled hinges. 

“And I don’t want to see you smuggling that lovemate of yours in here,” Gullwing teased as Quicksilver set her leather sack on the bed. “You’re here to work.” 

Goldcinder chuckled dryly. “Don’t worry, Gull. She won’t have time to miss her Suntop. We sail in less than a moon-dance, and this little pip’s got a lot to learn.” 

Quicksilver grinned. “I won’t disappoint.” 

“Of course you won’t,” Goldcinder smiled back. “You’re Savin’s pip. Now you get some sleep. The fleet goes out at dawn.” 

Quicksilver nodded. Goldcinder cast one last glance up and down his niece and shook his head. “We have to get you some better clothes,” he sighed, indicated her tattered gray-blue leathers. “Honestly. You Wolfriders have no pride.” 

Soon they were gone, and Quicksilver was left alone in the dark room. She fumbled with her little flint and steel and lit the lantern. A warm light filled her cave as she unpacked her few possessions. Her best dagger, her boots, and a change of leathers in case the weather turned foul. Her years as a Wolfrider had taught her to travel light. 

But for the next six months she wouldn’t be a Wolfrider. She was going to be a pirate. 

She blew out the lantern. She stripped off her leathers and crawled into bed. The warmth of the sheets felt good after the surprising coolness of the Race Rock caves. 

She rolled over on her back and looked up at the ceiling of the cave. It felt strange to be sleeping encased in rock. She was used to the living walls of the Grandfather Tree, or the wooden shacks of the Bay village. 

She closed her eyes. She thought of Suntop, back in the Palace as it slumbered in the deep waters off Shoal Point. She thought of the delicious golden silkiness of his hair, of the warm scent of his brown skin. She shivered and rolled over quickly, burying her face in her pillow and her limbs in the tangle of sheets. 

Moons away from Suntop. She didn’t know how she could bear it. She cursed herself for her hesitance around him. They were going to become lovemates and lifemates sooner or later. Why couldn’t it be sooner? But she knew if they had crossed that line before she left, she would never find the strength to go. 

Why did Suntop always leave it up to her? He was too sweet for his own good. Or her own good. 

She reached out with her mind. She found his sending star without difficulty. He was fast asleep already in the Palace. She sensed the signature of his dreaming thoughts. 

I am Khai, she almost sent. 

No. She could wait. She could be patient and let him find her soulname himself. 

The hell I can, Quicksilver thought miserably as she slowly fell asleep. 

* * * 

“OY! ‘Silver! Up!” 

Quicksilver rolled over in a start and would have fallen off the bed had the railing not imbedding itself in her side. She looked up through a veil of hair and sheets to see her uncle Loosestrife standing in the doorway, hands on hips. 

She dressed and limped out after her mother’s brother. The sun was not quite above the horizon when he took her outside to watch the fishers head out in their little outriggers to catch the morning schools of silversails. 

“Why are we out here?” she asked. 

“Your ignorance, pip,” Loosestrife rolled his eyes. “Watch the boats go out. Tell me what you see?” 

Quicksilver shrugged. “They’re paddling out. Travelling in groups of two. I guess to cast their nets once they make it out.” 

“And?” 

“And... they’re paddling away so the waves don’t strike them against the rock. And...” she shrugged. “And they’re heading for the northern point of the island. Is the fishing good there?” 

“Nope. They need to go west.” 

“So why are they paddling north?” 

“Watch.” 

Quicksilver watched the little boats slowly bobbed on the waves away from Race Rock. She strained her eyesight as the sun rose in the east, casting a harsh glare over the water. “They can’t paddle straight west, because of the light off the water?” she guessed. 

“You think that’s glare? That’s nothing. No. Keep watching.” 

“I don’t know how much longer I’m supposed to just stand here,” Quicksilver began, her mother’s impatience surfacing. Then she realized what Loosestrife wanted her to see. As the first pair of the string of boats began to near the northern tip of the crescent-shaped island that hemmed in Green Moon Bay, they suddenly changed course, turning west. The boats picked up speed though the elves no longer paddled with previous vigour. Like a leaf in a stream, the outriggers were borne out to sea. 

“The current,” Quicksilver said. 

“A hell of a riptide off the North Hook there,” Loosestrife confirmed. “No one risks swimming out there, but the fishers use it to get them out to their fishing grounds.” He turned to his niece. “The sea isn’t a big lake. It’s a thousands rivers and streams pooled together. There’s the wind above the waves and the wind below. Know your currents. Or you’ll find yourself lost out at sea without a sail. That’s your first lesson.” 

Quicksilver nodded. “What’s my second one?” 

“Food. Come on. It’s past time for breakfast.” 

* * * 

For the next two moons Quicksilver spent her days hard at work in Green Moon Bay. Loosestrife and Goldcinder taught her every rope and rigging on the _Lady Mura_. “Think of it like your... wolf,” Loosestrife offered the comparison with a grimace. “You know every little twitch of Featherfur’s muscles, don’t you? Well, it’s the same with the _Mura_. Don’t you listen to that treeshaper of yours who says it’s nothing but dead wood.” He smiled up proudly at the three tall masts. “She’s got heart and soul as much as any living thing. She breathes. She groans. And she can race like the wind if you know how to coax her.” 

Quicksilver paced over the decks, letting her hand run along the elegant railings, all hand-carved. The deck was made of flat boards nailed together with small metal spikes, just the way Islanders made walls to their huts out of wooden planks. The great rudder – which Quicksilver had only just glimpsed on a dive under the dock – was controlled by a large wheel that stood proudly near the stern of the ship. 

“I still find it hard to believe,” Quicksilver confessed. “That elves could build such a thing with no magic, no tools beyond hammer, axe and saw. I understand small dugouts... even little rowboats. But the _Mura_...” 

Loosestrife only smiled. “Hard work and even more hard work. And lessons learned over centuries. There’s your Islander heritage.” 

“And our ancestors crossed the Vastdeep in things like this... back in the time of Huntress Skyfire?” 

“Well, I wouldn’t know about Huntress Skyfire. But we’ve built every ship after those first ones Mura led across the sea. Not as sophisticated as this. But strong and sturdy. Thirty-one days at sea, so the legend goes, from one land to the other. Oh, not as fast as your Palace,” he added with a hint of scorn. 

“You don’t like the Palace, do you, Uncle?” 

He shrugged. “Not really. It’s easy to sit inside a magic shell and fly to the stars and back. These ships... they might not sail into the night sky, but they’re ours. We made them. And our Lady Mura built the first one out of logs and branches and mud. No magic. No living stone. Just imagination. And skill. That’s more valuable than any of your Palace’s magic. Remember that.” 

“You’ve looked better,” Suntop told her as they walked down Pip’s Beach together. 

“I’m exhausted. ‘Strife is trying to kill me.” She looked down at her calloused hands. “If I ever complain that vines at the Holt are too rough, hit me, will you?” 

Suntop smiled and casually slipped an arm over her shoulder. Quicksilver’s heart skipped a beat. She wrapped her arm about his waist in return and let her head rest on his shoulder. 

**What’s wrong?** he sent. 

**I’m going to miss you.** 

**I’ll never be more than a sending away.** 

“Not the same,” Quicksilver sighed glumly. “I can’t really... see you. Hear you. And... other things,” she added. 

“Other things...” Suntop reached up to stroke her silver hair possessively. “It’ll be all right,” he told her. “We’ll see each other before long. It’s not like we haven’t been apart before.” 

“But it’s different now,” Quicksilver whined, feeling peevish. 

Slowly Suntop lifted his arm from about her shoulder. “It is?” 

Quicksilver turned to face him. “No... I guess not. But... but it’s going to be different, soon. It’s...” she couldn’t find the words, and she cursed herself for it. She was always the level-headed one of the pair. Even as a child, she had kept Suntop’s cloud-head firmly on his shoulders. Now she was always pacing like a caged wolf. And it was Suntop who was steady. Suntop was never frustrated. She bit the inside of her lip, the first hint of resentment building inside her. He was always calm as still water. 

**I am not!** his laughter rang in her head. 

Quicksilver’s eyes widened, then she burst out laughing too. Just when she thought she had managed to lock some her thoughts away from him, he surprised her. Either he had a magic in him that would shame the High Ones, or that Recognition was closer than she had ever imagined. 

“Suntop...” she began nervously. 

He gave her hand a little squeeze. Quicksilver looked away, suddenly bashful. Unconsciously, she licked her lips; they were chapped from the sea spray in the air. She felt Suntop’s hand on her chin, gently turning her back to face him. He bent his head down to hers and kissed her tenderly on the mouth. It was an impossibly soft kiss, the faintest brush of skin. But it left her breathless. 

They parted, and Quicksilver gazed up into his eyes, as blue as the waters surrounding them. Again she felt that strange soundless whisper tugging at her consciousness. The faint echo of a richer melody. 

M-Mal– 

Her uncle’s sending startled her a moment before it seemed she was about to seize the name out of the air. ** ‘Silver! Come over to the tavern – you have to see this! Bring that lander of yours. He’ll get a good kick out of it.** 

“Puckernuts,” Quicksilver moaned. 

“What?” Suntop asked. He gave her a teasing smile. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?” 

She swatted his shoulder lightly. “Loosestrife. Something he wants me to see. You too. Come on. We’ve got to go to the village.” 

They followed the sandy coast around the northern shore, then hiked over the hill that lay between them and the settlement on the Bay. The _Lady Mura_ was docked, as were the smaller fishing boats and the little sailboat a few of the pirates used to reach nearby Greywake. But there a new boat was just coming in to dock. It was a large canoe ornamented with strange carvings along the gunwales, and a completely alien sail system. Outrigger pontoons straddled the canoe on either side, steadying it in the water. Suntop and Quicksilver could barely make out the elves who sat in the canoe, paddling in the last distance into port as they lowered the sail. 

“What are those things they’re wearing on their arms?” Suntop asked. “Those bracers...” 

“Those aren’t bracers – they’re fins. They must be Cove Folk!” Quicksilver was delighted. She had only met a few of the reclusive shapechanged Cove Folk during her childhood at Green Moon Bay. Now an entire boat of them had arrived. 

“Come on,” she said, pulling Suntop’s wrist. “Let’s go take a closer look.” 

The canoe had docked by the time the two elves reached the settlement and joined the congregation in the sandy square outside the tavern. About a dozen spectators had abandoned their afternoon chores to loiter and watched their leader Evergreen meet with the Cove Folk; it was a rare occurrence for the “fin-wrists” to make the long journey from their islands far to the south. 

They were tall for elves – not High Ones, certainly, but taller than Wolfriders or the Green Moon Bay pirates. And in contrast to the sun-kissed pirates, the Cove Folk were all very pale, as if they only saw the sun through the screen of salt water. There were several males, wearing loincloths that revealed the flesh-shaped fins on their legs. There was also a female whose entire costume seemed made of coral, pearls and seashells. But the leader of the party was a long-boned elf-woman wearing a coral headpiece and a long cape of kelp fronds that swept the sand at her feet. 

Suntop and Quicksilver gaped openly at the alien female. Like her companions, she was heavily flesh-shaped. Her calves were decorated with fins, and as she gestured animatedly, they saw that her hands were webbed. Even her ears had been shaped, taking on strange ridges that seemed to imitate some alien sea-beast. Her hair was a dark brown, laced with seed pearls, and her eyes were watery-blue. Like the other Cove Folk, her skin had an odd pallor to it from spending so much time underwater. 

“I’ve heard some of the Cove Folk can actually flesh-shape... like Timmain,” Quicksilver whispered. “They can grow tails in place of their legs and swim around under the sea like fishes. I wonder if any of these can.” 

They drifted closer to the crowd, their eyes on the leader as she conversed with Evergreen. They were arguing over something, and the water-elf’s gestures grew even more extravagant. 

“They’re fishing for a bigger share of the take,” Loosestrife said, appearing as if my magic at Quicksilver’s side. “Bloody fin-wrists,” he muttered. “They laze around in the Southern Coves wanting nothing to do with us or the humans... but they still expect us to make supply runs twice a year to keep them stocked in troll-gold and brightmetal. Bah. If they didn’t make the best rigging rope in the Islands, I’d let them get waterlogged.” 

Suntop was mesmerized by the crowned elf-woman: her outlandish clothing and her bizarre flesh-shaped fins. His wide-eyed fascination did not go unnoticed, and Loosestrife gave him a nudge in the ribs. “She’s an eyeful, isn’t she, lander?” 

“What... is that?” Suntop stammered, indicating her outlandish accessories. 

“That, m’lad, is a Brill. You know I told you all fin-wrists are a bit bubbly in the head? Well that there is the biggest bubble of them all. Her uncle Surge is the Speaker of Jewel Cove – that’s... uh, chief to you. Little chief.” 

“Because he speaks for Evergreen?” 

“He likes to think he does, the crazy old gull. Salt water on the brain – almost as mad as a few of your Wolfriders. But Brill there... oh, she’s something else.” 

“I understand the fins on the arms and legs... they’re to help you swim faster...” 

“That’s the idea, anyway,” Loosestrife chuckled. 

“But...” Suntop frowned. “Why the ears? And the hands? I’ve seen an elf flesh-shaped before... and much more heavily. But there was a purpose.” 

Loosestrife shrugged. “Why pierce an ear? There’s no purpose. They’d say it’s no different to reshape your whole ear... or your hands... or... well, let’s just say if you saw Surge you wouldn’t take him for an elf at first. Bah. They’ve more magic than they know what to do with. Nearly one in ten is a healer, and they say up to one in five can learn how to shape themselves a tail. You see... there’s a lesson for you Wolfriders. Mate magic-users to magic-users... build up the power in the offspring – sounds like a great idea. But five generations later... bubbles!” 

Brill and Evergreen continued to debate, and at length the other pirates grew bored watching the haggling. Loosestrife again leaned in close to his niece, but this time he locksent, to ensure no one could listen in. **Evergreen will put on a good show, then she’ll let Jewel Cove get another spool of gold wire out of the take. Act like it’s a great loss. Hmph. If the fin-wrists ever realized how little they’re really getting out of this deal... I swear...** 

**You’re cheating them?** 

Loosestrife shrugged. **We’re pirates, little pip.** 

At length the negotiations were concluded, and Brill accept the grudging offer of an extra spool of gold wire as a great concession. She gestured to her attendants, who returned to the great outrigger to retrieve the promised lengths of rope. 

“There’s only a third of your promised shipment,” she said. “The rest upon delivery of the troll goods.” 

“Of course,” Evergreen gave a courteous nod. “That’s only reasonable.” 

Loosestrife snorted under his breath, struggling to conceal his smirk. 

Brill turned away from the pirate chieftain, and her gaze fell on Suntop, standing at the periphery of the gathering. Suntop flinched as he realized she was watching him. 

Brill strode over to him, her eyes wide. “You’re a twin,” she breathed, and Suntop flinched again. 

“How did you–” 

“I could tell. Your soul... your ‘glow’... just like me.” She looked him over. “You are a strange one... are you a Bay pirate?” 

Loosestrife laughed. “Him? Naw, you’ve just met your first Wolfrider, Brill. This is Suntop, son of the wolf-queen Swift.” 

Suntop looked at him askance. **Wolf-queen?** 

**It makes a good tale. Now hush up.** “And this little sprite is my niece, Quicksilver – Savin’s little girl. She’s come to take her first ride on the _Lady Mura_.” 

Brill gave Quicksilver a passing nod, but her attention was entirely focused on Suntop. “Is your brother much like you?” 

“Brother? No, I have a twin sister. Venka. And she’s... she’s either a lot like me or nothing like me, depending on whom you ask.” 

“A sister. You can be a twin and have a sister? How strange. My twin is Krill, and she is my exact double – or she would be, if she would have herself shaped with fins.” 

“If you ask me, Krill’s the only sensible one on your rock,” Loosestrife quipped. 

“I didn’t ask you, pirate,” Brill cut him off, her voice suddenly sharp and imperious. But then she turned back to Suntop and her icy gaze melted. Before he could draw back, she seized his wrist and ran her hand up his forearm. 

“Your skin... why did you have it turned so dark?” 

“I... I didn’t. I was born this way.” 

“You never told us Wuf-raidors were all so dark,” Brill turned on Loosestrife. 

“Wolfriders,” Quicksilver corrected. But Brill was not listening to her. 

“They’re not,” Suntop explained. “My mother is a Wolfrider. My father comes from a tribe called the Sun Folk. And they all have golden and brown skin – protection from the Daystar’s rays.” 

“Can’t they take shelter from the sun?” 

“No. They live in a desert.” 

“Desert? What is a desert?” 

“It’s...” Suntop smiled. “It’s the opposite of this. Rocks and sand and barely enough water to drink, let alone launch boats across. No trees for shade and no cool breezes. Just the sun and the rocks.” 

“It sounds horrible. Your father is lucky he was rescued from such a place. Here...” she smiled invitingly, “everything is cool and refreshing.” Her hand lingered on Suntop’s arm. “Perhaps... you will come down to Jewel Cove. Its beauty is unrivalled in the Islands.” 

Loosestrife snorted in derision. 

“I... I was not planning–” Suntop began. 

“We would love to have you.” She gazed at him coyly from behind veiled lashes. “I would show you all that the Cove Folk have to share.” 

Quicksilver had had enough. She took Suntop’s hand firmly in hers. “No.” 

Brill tilted her head to one side. “Are you his keeper, little one?” she asked gently. 

“Yes.” 

Brill smiled as she turned back to Suntop. “Is she your intended mate? What curious customs you Wuf-raidors have. But surely you know the joys of sharing, of simple delights taken freely.” 

“I...” Suntop stammered, blushing in sheer mortification. 

“It is such a strange way, to bind a young elf of such... liveliness to a mere child? But surely she will not come of age for many years–” 

Loosestrife whistled low as he turned to see what his niece would do. He did not have to wait long. Quicksilver seized Brill’s wrist and pried her hand off Suntop’s arm. Quicksilver locked eyes with the Cove elf in the age-old rite of a wolf challenge and when she spoke her voice was razor sharp and deathly cold. 

“Keep – your slimy paws – off my lifemate!” 

She wrenched Brill’s arm away and left the elf-woman reeling. She stared at Suntop in disbelief, but he could only give her a wincing shrug of the shoulders as he turned back to Quicksilver. Loosestrife burst out laughing. Several of the other pirates assembled turned to see what the ruckus was. Brill clenched her hands tight at her sides and stalked away, muttering Islander curses under her breath. 

Loosestrife continued to tease Quicksilver about it as they ate their evening meal in the caverns of Race Rock. “She should have seen her!” he told Goldcinder animatedly. “And that lad of hers just stood them, shifting on his feet, completely baffled by it all. Never seen a pup so well trained.” 

“Just shut it, ‘Strife, will you?” Quicksilver moaned softly. 

“You’ll have to get used to it. Pretty boy like him... Brill won’t be the only one after him. Am I right, ‘Cinder?” 

Quicksilver kept her head bent down over her food. She wished she felt as victorious as her uncle. The elf-woman’s words still rankled. 

Child. 

Was that what other Islanders thought when they saw the couple – that Suntop was a vibrant youth oddly shackled to a girl too young to appreciate him? 

Puckernuts, she was not so young! Elves younger than she had been initiated into the ways of joining. Newstar was already heavily pregnant with Kimo at her age. Just because Quicksilver was painfully short for her age and still somewhat under-developed beneath her bodice did not mean she was a milk-toothed cub. Not everyone could be as formidable as Nightfall at sixteen! 

She was making excuses again. Because the truth was, she was still a child. 

“You’re not hungry?” her grandmother Gullwing asked her. 

“Not really.” 

“Nerves,” Gullwing nodded. “I’d be nervous too, if my first sailing left in two days.” 

* * * 

“I’m going to miss you so much,” Quicksilver whispered to Suntop at the docks. The _Lady Mura_ sailed with the early morning tide, and the sun was still sleeping as the two young elves made their farewells. Daughter Moon had already passed beyond the bay, but Mother Moon hung above, and the reflection of the half-moon in the waters was an eerie green-blue. 

“I’ll come find you every night,” Suntop promised. “And by time you’ll be too busy to miss me.” 

“My arms are still so sore – I don’t know how I’ll survive this.” 

“You will. You’ll come back a pirate and you’ll look down your nose at everything Wolfrider.” 

“Not everything Wolfrider.” She rose up on tiptoes and kissed him. 

“Oy, ‘Silver!” Loosestrife called from on deck. “Shake it, will you?” 

“Take care.” Suntop kissed her again. “Go on. Go show them what a sea-faring wolf can do.” 

Quicksilver flashed him a cocky grin and bounded up the gangplank before her nerves failed her. 

“All right!” Loosestrife barked to his crew. “Let’s get moving if we want to make the early morning tide.” He turned away and shouted out a flurry of commands. Quicksilver felt a little swaying underneath her feet, and suddenly the ship was underway. She leaned over the edge of the rails to watch as the ship slowly pulled away from the rickety docks. Woven tethers were pulled down to the docks, clear of the sides of the ship, and the wooden frame groaned as the light breeze filled the sails and the tide helped carry the vessel out into the bay. 

They made for the current north of Race Rock, which would guide them out to sea. The fishers were already climbing in small outrigger canoes, ready to follow the ship’s wake out into the open waters. But Quicksilver saw none of it. Her eyes were glued to the tiny brown-and-gold figure on the dockside, quickly receding from view. 

“Stop pining,” Loosestrife said, slapping her shoulder hard. “Come on. It’s time you get to know your ship.” 

He led Quicksilver on a tour of the Mura. The ship’s belly was filled with three main rooms: a communal area and storage hold, a huge bedroom reserved for Loosestrife, and a third room where the rest of the crew slept. Small alcoves were built into the sides of the hull, and hammocks were strung for the senior-most members, while others bedded down on linens and blankets on the wooden floor. 

“Now, since you’re Savin’s pip, you get a hammock,” Loosestrife told her. “This spot is yours.” He patted the slung piece of canvas. “You can keep your things stowed down in the box there. 

“Thanks,” Quicksilver said, easing her leather sack into the storage box. 

“Oh, don’t thank me. When the others see you get a hammock right away they’ll try to scalp you.” 

After the tour below, Loosestrife led his niece back up on deck, introducing her to crewmembers along the way. She had met them all before, of course; they were familiar faces of her childhood. But now she was learning their functions on the ship. Her cousin Treefrog was the lookout, and could usually be seen up in the rigging, keeping a watch out for storms. Soft-eyed Derris was in charge of the ship’s stores, and prepared the meals for the crew morning and evening. Mimic led the fishers whenever supplies ran scarce. Goldcinder manned the wheel when he was not relaxing below deck. Yet most of the crew had no specific function and were assigned to tasks as the captain saw fit. For such a complex invention, the ship required a crew of no more than thirty, and of those thirty, ten could often be found relaxing above or below deck at any one time. 

Around midday they were passing a lushly forested island. “Now... wait for it... ah!” Goldcinder handed her the spyglass and showed her to align it. “There’s Greywake right there.” 

“It’s smaller than I remember,” Quicksilver said as she peered at the settlement through the spyglass. It was about half the size of Green Moon Bay, a collection of perhaps three-eights of houses, and several small docks. “When we sailed over in Mother’s boat... it seemed so much bigger.” 

“You’re so much bigger now,” Loosestrife said, plucking the spyglass from her hands. 

“Are we stopping?” 

“Not now. We’ve got a meeting to keep with the humans on Crest Point. Here, could you give me a hand with the rigging?” 

Quicksilver felt into step behind her uncle as he began to run rope through the round wooden pulleys. “You want your first task as a pirate?” 

“I’m ready, Uncle.” 

“’Course you are. Now here. Hold onto this rope tight – actually... better loop it around your waist. Don’t want to take any chances.” 

Quicksilver obeyed, puzzled. She looked up at the rigging overhead. Was Loosestrife going to hoist her high up among the sails as she had once seen him do with Treefrog? 

“Ready for a ride?” 

“Ready.” She cinched the rope about her waist. 

“I need you back up a bit.” 

Quicksilver obeyed. 

“No... a little more. Okay, keep looking up.” 

Quicksilver stepped back further. “This good?” 

“One more step.” 

She stepped back, and walked right off the edge of the ship. 

She dropped into the water like a stone. Almost immediately, she felt the rope about her waist snap tight, and it yanked her back above the water’s surface. Spitting and splashing, she looked up at her tormentor. She could hear his laughter even from beneath the waves. But now he was joined by the rest of the crew on deck, who were flocking to peer over the side at the unfortunate elf flailing in the water. 

“Hey, ‘Silver, nice dive!” her cousin Skelter teased. 

“You... you took the netting down!” Quicksilver managed to shout, but the effort cost her a mouthful of water. With each little wave, another splash of water crashed over her head. She tried to haul herself up the rope, but could not gain purchase. 

“Damn you, haul me in!” 

“All right, boys!” Loosestrife barked. “I think she’s had enough.” 

They pulled her in, banging her against the side of the ship for her troubles. When Quicksilver was finally deposited on deck, she was shivering and aching all over. She shoved her wet hair out of her face and glared at Loosestrife, ready to knock him off the side of the ship. 

But Loosestrife was grinning. “Let’s hear it for our new shipmate,” he commanded, and the crew burst into cheers. Suddenly Quicksilver was swarmed by pirate elves, thumping her behind the shoulder blades and shouting congratulations in her ear. 

“Don’t feel bad,” Treefrog whispered when it was his turn to pat her on the back. “He makes every new sailor take a dunking.” 

* * * 

It was the middle of the afternoon when the ship pulled up alongside the coast. They threw the heavy anchor overboard in the shadow of a great seacliff. The ship bobbed in the light waves, and Quicksilver struggled to remain upright. 

“What now?” She scanned the cliffs and saw only seabirds. 

“Treefrog!” Loosestrife shouted up to a remarkably tall elf in the rigging. “Let ‘em know we’re here.” 

The elf raised a large pink sea-snail’s shell to his lips and blew out three long blasts. Deep and resonant, like the bleating of a great bull shagback, the notes carried across the cover and into the forests beyond the cliffs. 

Quicksilver watched as the pirates readied themselves for the raid. The younger elves sulked as they took up their places on deck, the skeleton crew left in charge of the ship under Goldcinder’s direction. The others fastened their swords and daggers about their waists and strung their bows. 

“You ready?” Loosestrife asked. 

“What do I do?” 

“Just follow my lead and enjoy the ride.” 

Treefrog blew another three notes on the great shell, and Loosestrife marshalled the pirates, brandishing his curved sword high. The crew climbed up into the riggings like an entire family of treewees, agile and swift. Quicksilver followed the band of pirates up the ropes. 

Quicksilver saw the reason for mooring in the cove soon enough. The center mast of the ship was just tall enough to reach the top of the cliff, and the pirate-elves leapt the gap easily and landed on the mossy summit, ready for battle. The other side of the seawall was a gentle hill, rolling down into a clearing where the humans had pitched their village. An outer wall of logs protected the center square of the village and the three-eights of huts that housed an untold number ofhumans. Quicksilver saw a few tiny figures below racing from the white sand beach, towards the safety of the walls. 

“Let’s go!” Loosestrife shouted. “Sound the charge, Treefrog.” 

The elf blew one last blast of the shell, and the pirates charged down the hill, whooping and waving their weapons. They raced down the hill and onto the flat plains. A few strange plots of land – cultivated in a crude approximation of the Sun Folk fields – were carefully avoided by the pirates as they bore down on the village. 

The only break in the wall was heavily barred with logs and thatch, but the elves easily scaled it and leapt into the village. Inside, the well-trodden square was deserted, save for a large pile of supplies heaped in the center. 

“Thank you, generous hosts!” Loosestrife shouted at the top of his lungs. Quicksilver caught sight of a few young humans cowering in the doorway of their hut. At the sound of elfin laughter, they retreated. 

“Some hunt this is,” Quicksilver murmured under her breath. “The prey has already surrendered.” 

She joined Loosestrife in examining the pile of supplies. A woven mat of palm fibers... several crude wooden statues... a few garishly painted wooden staffs... a basket of shell necklaces... and a large clay jar sealed with a heavy lid – these were the treasures they had come to steal? 

“Ladask?” Loosestrife examined the pot. “Oh, please, be ladask.” He struggled to lift the lid, which was carefully molded to seal the pot against all air. When he finally opened the jar, a smell so noxious it evoked instant nausea. It stank of decay and rot. An entire family of white-stripes had unleashed their spray then expired to a flesh-eating disease! 

Loosestrife laughed, capping the jar quickly. “All right, you lazy dogs! Let’s get this loot out of here.” 

The pirates all did their parts, hefting the assorted knickknacks on their shoulders. Quicksilver gamely lifted a grimacing wood carving that Loosestrife handed her. For the three broadest-shouldered Islanders, Loosestrife saved the burden of carrying the clay jar, and they handled it as if it were the most precious of cargo. 

Just then Quicksilver heard a shout from the far side of the central square. Eight fierce human warriors, painted in yellow and red clay, their hips and knees decorated with grass skirts, their arms baring shields and spears, began an ugly chant in their native tongue. 

“Oh, puckernuts!” Quicksilver reached for her dagger. 

**Don’t be daft!** Loosestrife snapped. **You’ll ruin everything trying to teach them a new dance step.” He held his own sword up, as if intent on defending the entire party of twenty elves. Most had their hands full of booty, but those that had free hands did not draw their weapons. 

The humans advanced. One step, two – chanting their garbled incantation, their seashell anklets tapping out an addictive rhythm. The pirates retreated – one step, two. Now more humans were entering the courtyard. Women and children clustered outside their huts, clapping their hands and chanting in time with the warriors. The humans retreated one pace, and the pirates advanced in turn. They advanced again, and the pirates obligingly retreated. 

“Well... I’ll be...” Quicksilver murmured. 

The warriors pushed the elves back to the blockaded front door. The pirates at the rear of the party began to climb up over the barrier, their precious cargo cradled under their arms. Loosestrife swung his sword in a wide arc, and the warriors stepped back, raising their shields to protect them as they performed a series of three shorts ritual bows. 

Loosestrife glanced over his shoulder to see if all the elves were out, and the humans pressed the advantage, spears raised. Suddenly the dance seemed to have turned deadly. But Loosestrife only made an extravagantly feigned swooning motion, and the dancers yipped and hooting, waving their spears high in the air. The warriors had bested the pirate king. 

Loosestrife sprang up from the ground in that motion of lowered defenses. He pounced atop the shield of the smallest warrior, and the line of dancers broke into chaos. The women and children broke out into laughter. As the hapless warrior trying to shake Loosestrife from his shield, the elf snatched the spear from his right hand. The human relinquished the spear – far too easily, it seemed to Quicksilver – and Loosestrife bounded back onto the barricade with his war prize in hand. 

“Aleein orju!” Loosestrife called in their tongue, raising the spear high. The humans averted their eyes in ritualistic fashion, stamping their feet and clapping their hands. Loosestrife hustled his niece over the top of the barricade and down onto the ground. 

“What was that?” Quicksilver shouted as they jogged back for the hill and the ship. “Suppose the human had wanted his spear back?” 

“Why would he?” Loosestrife countered. “He’s the luckiest fool in the village. Chosen of the Spirits. Every unmated female will want to tumble him tonight. That’s how the young preeners show off for their maidens to attract a lifemate.” 

“So it was all a dance?” 

“Carefully planned and practised over human generations. If we stayed to watch, we’d see them throw themselves a great feast tonight.” 

“But we won’t stay?” Quicksilver asked. 

“This is only our first port,” Loosestrife said. “We’ve got a lot to do in the next few days. The trolls are waiting for us.”


	2. Part Two

They struck another village later that afternoon, and the scene repeated itself almost exactly. By evening, they could hear the celebration of drumbeats and song along the coast of Crest Point. The crew ate a meal of seared fish and crab at dusk, then dropped the anchor again to pass the night. Quicksilver crawled into her hammock, and the gentle rocking motion of the ship soon lulled her to sleep. Soon she was soaring through the astral plane, her soul seeking out the lodestar of the Palace, and her future lifemate within. 

* * * 

“Oy! ‘Silver! Wake up!” 

Quicksilver tipped out of the hammock and fell on her face on the floor. “Damn it, ‘Strife,” she moaned as she got to her feet. 

“Can’t sleep away the whole day. On your feet. We’re almost at the trolls.” 

Quicksilver cursed under her breath. He seemed to have a gift for waking her up at the best part of the dream. 

Yawning, she followed Loosestrife up on deck. Her cousin Skelter was scanning the coastline with a spyglass. They were sailing north-west around the point, always keeping about two miles out to sea. “Too many reefs close in,” Goldcinder explained as he manned the wheel. “Easier out here.” 

Quicksilver spotted boats on the water in the distance. Islanders? No, there were no elves living on the mainland – save for the Wolfriders, days away. And as they drew nearer, she realized the shapes were too big to be elves. Humans? No... too squat. Strange shapes, great lumps topped with fan-like pyramids. 

They were almost upon them when she realized what they were. 

Trolls. Trolls in giant sun hats, fishing in tiny rowboats. 

The fisher-trolls barely glanced up as the ship sailed into their waters. Loosestrife bounded into the rigging to shout out to the closest boat that passed by. “’Oy, Frogwart! Any luck?” 

The troll grunted loudly and Loosestrife laughed. 

They sailed on, past the fishing boats that dotted the clearstone seas, and soon Quicksilver caught a glimpse of a large dock on the coastline. “Are those the trolls?” she squeaked excitedly. 

“No, little pip. That’s a dock,” Goldcinder explained. 

“Shut it. You know what I mean!” 

Treefrog blew the shell-trumpet again, and gloomy trolls seemed to appear out of the mossy shadows. Soon five of them waited on the dock, ready to assist the elves. 

“Ever seen a troll so glad to see an elf?” Loosestrife whispered in her ear. 

“They’re happy?” she asked. “They hardly look it.” 

“They’re out here in the sun. Trust me, ‘Silver. They’re overjoyed.” 

They docked at the little pier and cast their mooring lines ashore. The trolls gamely helped tie up the lines and settled the little gangplank into the grooves in the wood. 

“Well, come on!” the troll at the bottom of the gangplank growled. “If you’re here to trade, then let’s go. King Hammerhand is waiting for you.” 

“Let go, lads,” Loosestrife said. “Mind the cargo.” 

The crew of thirty streamed off the ship, bearing the plunder from the village. When Quicksilver voiced worry that someone should stay with the ship, Loosestrife threw his head back and laughed with a chortle too big for his slight frame. 

“What, you think a troll would steal it?” 

“What’s that?” the troll asked. 

“Nevermind, Snail. This one’s just a pip. Newcomer, you understand.” 

“Who’s she? She don’t look like a fin-wrist.” 

“Oy! Watch it! This is my sister’s pip, Quicksilver. She’s come to see what it is we do.” 

“Besides theft of troll-gold?” 

“Oh, hush. We keep your king in fine boodle. Lead on.” 

Snail led them to the door in the rocks. Quicksilver’s sharp eyes took in everything. The trolls seemed to match her father’s descriptions. Big, unwieldy, and surly. Yet for all their grumbling, she sensed they were genuinely pleased to see the elves. 

After an eternity on the move, winding through tunnels every bit as complex and remarkable as the homes of Greymung and Picknose, they arrived at the throne chamber of King Hammerhand. 

“Ahoy, Bunny!” Loosestrife announced jauntily. 

“Don’t call me that!” the troll snapped, slamming his fist on the arm of his throne. Quicksilver stifled a chortle of laughter. She could see instantly why the great King Hammerhand had earned himself the nickname. 

He was quite plump for a troll – not fat, exactly, but soft, with grey-green skin smooth where it should be sculpted with muscle and sinew. His blond hair was fluffed and shone with gold dust. His beard did not grow down to the ground like other trolls’, but fanned out about his chin. This wasn’t a hardened warrior like the King Guttlekraw of legend and sending pictures. This wasn’t even a schemer like the infamous Picknose. This was a troll dandy, through and through. 

At the King’s side was a troll maiden, all pendulous breasts and enormous hips, decked in gold. Quicksilver had always been told that troll females were treated like mere possessions, and forced to sit on the floor at their mates’ side. But this one sat in a throne of similar size, softened by cushions and wraps of rabbit skins. 

“Quicksilver... meet the illustrious King Bunny, terror of Crest Point,” Loosestrife introduced her. “Bunny – this is my sister’s pip, Quicksilver. She’s come to join us in... paying homage to Your... Trollness.” 

“Damn you, elf – show some respect for a king!” 

“Bunny, sweeting, let’s see what they have,” his consort murmured in his ear. 

Instantly the troll melted. “You’re right, my Bauble. All right, elves! Out with it! What do you have?” 

Loosestrife gestured to Spider, one of the pirate maidens, and she laid out a basket of seashell necklaces. Bauble sprang up to inspect the treasure. “Oooh... very nice.” 

“Let me see...” Bunny held up one string of shells. “I don’t know, elf. They’re pretty big.” 

“You know it’s not the season for tidewinks.” 

“Still... these scuttlewinks... they’re so big we could almost string them ourselves.” 

Bauble slapped his ample belly. “Don’t be silly. With your fat hands – you’d crush a conch shell, let alone a scuttlewink.” 

“Hmm... how much?” 

“Oh, five nuggets ought to cover it.” 

“You’re a thief, elf.” 

“Come on, Bunny. You don’t want to seem miserly in front of your fine queen, do you? What’s five gold nuggets to a king like you?” 

He sighed. “How many strings?” 

“Twenty-five. Now that’s five strings a nugget. You want a better price, you go out and talk to the humans yourself.” 

Bunny heaved a sigh. “Four.” 

“Four? What do you think I am, a pip from the Southern Coves?” 

“Fine. Five. Snail – pay them.” 

Snail grudgingly doled out five glittering nuggets of gold, each the size of a capnut. “I thank you,” Loosestrife smiled. “Next...” 

Skelter and Treefrog laid out the four painted staffs and the spear Loosestrife had stolen from the warrior. “Genuine male power wands,” Loosestrife announced. “Including the longstaff of their shaman.” 

Bunny’s eyes lit up and his thick purple tongue wet his thick lips. 

**“Male power wands?”** Quicksilver asked. 

**King Bunny feels you can never have too much... potency,** Loosestrife sent back. **I hear his bedroom is decorated with them.** 

**But they’re just stupid sticks and paint.** 

**Never underestimate the power of suggestion. King or no, Bunny never stood a chance with Bauble there until we starting selling these “power wands.”** 

Bunny eagerly paid the set price – one elfin-sized sword and one spool of solid gold wire for each “power wand.” Quicksilver struggled to conceal her smile. Loosestrife shot her a warning glare. **I swear, queer this deal and you can swim home to Savin!** 

Next the pirates sold the wooden carvings. The trolls gladly handed over one precious gemstone for each of the ugly things. Next went the woven mats, each fetching a dozen arrowheads. Just when Quicksilver was beginning to think there was nothing the pirates weren’t ashamed to sell and the trolls weren’t too stupid to buy, Loosestrife ordered the big clay jar brought out. 

All the trolls in attendance leaned forward expectantly. Bunny and Bauble licked their lips. 

Loosestrife beckoned Bunny closer, and the troll king staggered forward, entranced. Loosestrife lifted the lid and the smell that rose up instantly brought tears to his eyes. Bunny breathed in deep and smacked his lips loudly. 

“Now that’s a vintage!” 

“Isn’t it?” Loosestrife grinned, hastily replacing the lid. 

“We’ll take it all. Equal weight in gold–” he reached from the jar, but Loosestrife pushed his hand away gently. 

“No tricks, elf! That’s the deal – always has been.” 

“Oh, I know,” Loosestrife purred. “But this ladask has been aged to such perfection...” he opened the lid again, and Bunny’s mouth watered at the pungent smell. Again Loosestrife snapped the lid closed. “This isn’t your ordinary ladask, old friend. It takes time to bring out this level of flavour. Just think of it – plain old silversails out of the water – but six moons of loving care and you have the sweetest ladask your tongue will ever taste.” 

**What in Timmain’s name is that filth?** Quicksilver asked any pirate who would answer. 

**Fish soaked in salt water and wood ash until it becomes a thick mush,** Goldcinder answered. 

**And you eat that?** she stammered. 

**Hell, no! We have noses same as you. But the trolls can’t get enough of it.** 

“I think...” Loosestrife continued smoothly, “that when you consider the fine quality of this,” he patted the jar, “delicacy, the price should be equal weight in gold of the ladask – and the container.” 

“Thief!” 

“You’ll never find a better vintage.” 

“I won’t pay.” 

“Fine. Take it back, boys.” 

“Wait!” Bunny intervened. “Wait...” he twiddled his thumbs nervously. He looked at Bauble, then at Snail and his other subjects. He hemmed and hawed and scratched his little beard. “Let... let me smell it again.” 

Loosestrife obligingly lifted the lid, and Bunny breathed in the fetid aroma. 

“Ahhh.... deal!” Bunny held out his hand. 

“A pleasure doing business with you, my friend.” Loosestrife clapped his hand in agreement, and the sale was sealed. 

“Masterful, Bunny dumpling,” Bauble purred, stroking his beard. 

“A feast!” Bunny called, sweeping his hand out. “To celebrate our successful negotiations!” 

* * * 

The New Land trolls knew how to welcome guests, Quicksilver thought as she sat down at the long table. All manner of troll delicacies were piled up around them, from stuffed mushrooms to seafood stew to more noxious concoctions involving grubs and slugs. While the elves helped themselves with their hands, the trolls ate with pairs of little polished sticks that they clicked and flourished between their chubby fingers. 

When King Bunny found out that Quicksilver’s father was a veteran of negotiations with his distant troll kin, he insisted she sit near his throne and tell him all about the Old Land trolls. Quicksilver tried her best to remember everything her elders had told her. 

“So tell me, lass, how do we stack up against our kin in the Farland?” Bunny asked. 

“Well, I think my father would agree that they weren’t half so gracious hosts as you,” she said as she helped herself to another stuffed mushroom. 

“But they understood the importance of trade with you wisps, right?” 

“Well... yes... and no.” 

Bunny laughed. “And did your kin swindle them as much as the Cap’n does us?” 

“Not nearly,” Quicksilver replied honestly, and while Loosestrife stiffened in his seat, Bunny only laughed and clapped her on the back so far she nearly fell face first into her food. But when he pressed her for more details and Quicksilver explained that the Wolfriders had traded woodslore and fine pelts with the trolls for weapons and jewellery, Bunny laughed again. “They didn’t have any good human trinkets? No trophies? Just furs? Bah! Your trolls don’t sound very bright if they gave up good metal for nothing more than some herbs and furs.” 

“Well, they didn’t have anything as fine as ladask in the Homeland,” Quicksilver said smoothly. 

“Poor slugs,” Bunny lamented. He dipped into the pot of stew to pluck out a shrimp with his chopsticks. 

As the meal reached its conclusion, two troll servants came out with a platter of the finest delicacy for their king and his queen. Now the ladask was exposed, a jiggling mass of cream-coloured goo that bore no resemblance to anything as natural as meat. Quicksilver stiffened in her seat and tried not to breathe too deeply. 

Bunny and Bauble dug in with their chopsticks and smacked their lips in approval. “What flavour, what texture!” Bunny raved. 

“It’s heavenly,” Bauble dove it greedily for another piece. Quicksilver watched the stinking meat wriggling between her chopsticks and she fought back the urge to vomit. 

“Oh, this is wonderful,” Bunny licked his chopsticks to catch every molecule of flavour. “You have to try this, Cap’n, it’s... beyond words.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it!” Loosestrife said smoothly. “Ladask is a king’s food, I wouldn’t deprive you of a single morsel of your bounty. It would be a breech of the honourable pact we’ve had for countless seasons if an elf showed the presumption to taste the king’s food – even at the king’s invitation. Besides... I fear the.. sublime richness of ladask could never be fully appreciated by our frail palates.” 

“Wisps!” Bunny laughed, and happily ate Loosestrife’s share himself. 

When the ladask was mercifully consumed and the smell had begun to dissipate, Bunny slapped Quicksilver hard on the back again and said: “You really must come visit us again, wisp. And bring your father. Or that wolf-queen the Cap’n’s always complaining about. Tell them to bring a nice gift or five – no furs, please. I’m sure you have something a little more... regal.” 

Quicksilver smiled pleasantly, wondering what gift would impress the troll king. Perhaps a ringtail carcass left to age in the sun... 

* * * 

After bidding farewell to the trolls, the _Lady Mura_ sailed south, heading down the western coastlines of the Islands bound for Farthest Isle – two days away if the wind was with them. The sun was setting off starboard when Quicksilver joined her uncles for the evening meal. 

“Have you no shame?” Quicksilver asked Loosestrife as he set the plate of stir fried seafood in front of her. While the rest of the crew ate off wooden platters on the cargo hold floor, Loosestrife and Goldcinder dined from finely glazed ceramics on a hardwood table. Their private cabin held a bed heaped with the best cotton sheets and chests carved of the rarest blackwood. 

“Don’t get me that Wolfrider arrogance,” Loosestrife scoffed. “This isn’t a pack. This is a ship. And I’ve earned the captain’s rank – and the comforts that go with it.” 

“You didn’t earn anything!” Quicksilver blurted out. “You got to be captain because your father was the leader of Green Moon Bay!” 

Loosestrife shrugged. “Your Line of Chiefs.” 

“Blood of Chiefs,” Quicksilver corrected. 

“Whatever,” Loosestrife sat down in his chair and propped his boots up on the table as he nursed his glass of wine. “Fact is, Mura’s Line has always made the best leaders. Don’t question it – just enjoy it.” 

Quicksilver shook her head as she began to stir her food about, letting the steam rise from her plate. 

“You’ve got responsibilities here, pip,” Loosestrife pointed out. “One of these days... we’ll need a new ship to sail out of here and I’ll be too old and too bored to bother with taking over a new _Mura_. And your cousins... well, let’s say I wouldn’t trust either of them with the captain’s table. Treefrog... he’s so damned good-natured he’d let those troll swindle us. And Skelter still can’t tell his ass from his elbow on the ship.” 

“Well, don’t look at me. I’m no sailor.” 

“Ah, you’re too young to know what you want to be,” Loosestrife dismissed affectionately. “That’s why you need a well-rounded education. Let you see everything your birthright offers.” 

“I know what I want!” Quicksilver replied hotly, all adolescent defiance. 

Loosestrife smiled, and the smile told her she was completely transparent. “Sure you do, pip. But there’s more to life than that, you know.” 

Goldcinder almost choked on his wine as he bit back a laugh. “Such as?” he asked when he recovered himself. 

Loosestrife shrugged. “Fun. Gold. Gettin’ drunk. You know...” 

“Uh-huh,” Goldcinder smiled slyly. 

“Oh, don’t give me that! You’re not exactly deep, you know.” 

“Deeper than you,” he muttered around the rim of his glass. 

Loosestrife kicked him under the table. 

Quicksilver giggled. “I really don’t know why you two don’t spend more time with Pike and Skot.” 

“Ah, they’re both barbarians,” Loosestrife said matter-of-fact. 

“And you’re high-headed!” 

Loosestrife screwed up his face quizzically. “If you mean ‘snob’ just say it, ‘Silver.” 

Quicksilver could only shake her head again. Only her mother’s tribe could have come up with such a word. 

“Come on, now,” Loosestrife teased. “You get a kick out of it, knowing you understand why a spyglass works and the rest of your pack doesn’t and doesn’t care to?” 

Quicksilver refused to be baited, even as she felt that inborn Islander smugness tugging at her heart. “The Islander Way isn’t better than the Wolfrider Way,” she insisted patiently. “Just different.” 

Loosestrife propped his feet back up on the table again. “Glass. Wheels. Milled wood.” He numbered his fingers. “Herblore. Rum.” 

“We have dreamberries.” 

“Ooh. Hallucinating berries. Good for you. Shall I go on? Tool boxes. Writing. Writing!” 

“You stole that from the trolls.” 

“We both stole it from the High Ones. But we never forgot about it!” 

“Wolfriders have more magic.” 

“So do the fin-wrists. You’re not convincing me.” 

“Wolfriders have explored this world from one side of the Vastdeep Water to the other.” 

“Luck. A set of mistakes and good fortune.” 

“Wolfriders have the Palace!” 

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about the Palace.” 

“You will! When Suntop unlocks the last of its secrets and opens up every possibility on the face of this world and on other worlds too, you’ll care. When he breaks down the walls between the spirits and the living so you can stroll in and talk to Mura any day you like – then you’ll care. When the Palace makes everything here look old and primitive and an elf is judged by what he can build with his mind, not his hands–” 

She was babbling with all the conviction of an adolescent. Loosestrife burst out laughing, and even Goldcinder chuckled. Her face fell as she saw all her rhetoric had only amused them. 

“What?” Quicksilver demanded. 

“Your Suntop,” Loosestrife laughed. “By Mura, you really are mad about him, aren’t you?” 

Quicksilver blushed. “He’s my lifemate. My other half. We’ve both known that since I was a baby.” 

“Well, I envy you,” Loosestrife saluted her with a toast. “Wish all our lives could be as easy as yours.” 

She couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still mocking her. “We will Recognize. You’ll see.” 

“Ah, you don’t need Recognition for a good love life, right ‘Cinder.” 

“More trouble than it’s worth,” Goldcinder agreed. 

“Males always say that,” Quicksilver dismissed. “Until it happens to them.” 

“Bite your tongue,” Loosestrife snapped. 

“Recognition’s just instinct,” Goldcinder said reasonably. “Like fish spawning. And if it’s anything more than that... well, that’s up to the elves, not the instinct.” 

“I know that. I’m not a child.” 

“Why are you even thinking about Recognition?” Loosestrife asked. “Just enjoy yourself. Have fun with him. You’re too young to be thinking about forever already.” 

“I don’t need to think about it. He’s my lifemate, and I’m his.” 

“Fine. So do what lifemates do. And write some sappy ‘howls’ about each other – or whatever the Wolfriders do whenever they’re not at it. Couple years down the line... you think you’re ready for it... swap soulnames. Pick your moment though. Trust me – the joining afterward – phenomenal!” 

Quicksilver was aghast. “You treat it all so lightly.” 

“Oh, don’t misunderstand me, pip. There’s nothing light about soulnames. Your soulname is yours. You want to share it with someone – you want to let down those walls so they can find it themselves – that’ll change your life forever. Don’t you do it just to rekindle the ol’ fire, and don’t you dare let it happen one night when you’re drunk and don’t know any better. But don’t ever forget that soulname is yours. Recognition – well, give us all around High One’s lifespan and we’ll figure out how to make it all by choice. But until then we’re stuck with it and for every perfect Recognition there’s usually one that just mangles some poor elf’s soul. But Recognition just instinct, like ‘Cinder said. Don’t ever let instinct rule your soul. And don’t think you can’t be happy – can’t be safe – with your lad unless you get Recognition’s approval.” 

Quicksilver considered his words at length. When she spoke next, her voice betrayed her lingering fears. “But... what if he Recognizes someone else?” 

“What if?” Loosestrife asks. “Won’t say it couldn’t happen. Look at Gale. Thought he’d have a life with your Aunt Evergreen – then she Recognized Treefrog’s father... High Ones guard him,” he added piously. “Took another Recognition for Evergreen and Gale to get back on course – and a lot of time and more patience than either of them really had. But they were meant to be. And now they are. If it’s meant to be, it sorts itself out.” Here he cast a glance at Goldcinder that could only be described as naked adoration. Quicksilver lowered her eyes so he would think she had seen his sudden vulnerability. 

He mistook it for resistance. “Look. Does he love you, this lad of yours?” 

“Yes.” 

“You think he’d play around while you’re stranded on the high seas?” 

“Never!” 

“Then relax. Contrary to what any weepy maidens might have told you, there is nothing shallow about kindling the fires.” 

Quicksilver blushed again, and she looked away abruptly before her eyes could betray her. She was not fast enough. Loosestrife looked at her askance. 

“You... you have done it... haven’t you?” 

Quicksilver bit her lip. Loosestrife burst out laughing again. 

Goldcinder slapped his arm, hard. Loosestrife struggled to appear contrite. “Ah... ‘Silver...” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “What are you waiting for? High Ones, it’s not like you’re a baby. When I was your age–” 

“You were twenty-four and don’t you deny it!” Goldcinder blurted out. 

“I was twenty-three!” Loosestrife flung back. 

“Don’t let him get to you,” Goldcinder told Quicksilver. “If you’re not ready, then you’re not – and your lad’s an ass if he’s too impatient to wait.” 

“Oh, no, it’s not him!” Quicksilver said quickly. “He’s... he’s always said he’d follow my lead in all things. And it’s not that I’m worried that he’ll look somewhere else if I don’t....” she sighed miserably. “It’s not that at all.” 

“Then what?” 

“I... I’m a nervous little cub,” she admitted. “I... I can never make up my mind. One moment I’m burning for him... the next I’m so confused.” 

“About what?” Loosestrife asked. 

“I don’t know. We’re so happy together the way we’ve been. It’s not that we don’t... do things...” she managed to stammer. “I can’t even begin to describe what it’s like to ‘go out’ together. And we... well, we’ve been in the dreamberry patch more than once. But... joining.... what if it doesn’t work out?” 

“What do you mean ‘if it doesn’t work out?’” 

“Things could go wrong! We might not be well-matched after all. We... one of us goes too fast... one of us doesn’t go fast enough... I don’t know. We’ve... we’ve been waiting our whole lives... what if we stumble while we’re trying to rush things... and we make a complete mess of everything?” 

“Mm, ‘cause one lousy joining is the sure killer of true love,” Loosestrife muttered. Goldcinder cuffed him again. 

“What if we don’t Recognize?” Quicksilver continued. “What if... sometimes I feel we’re so close – I can almost hear his soulname. What if we’re supposed to wait – and if we don’t – then it’ll never happen.” 

“You’re overthinking,” Loosestrife said, reaching for more stir-fry. 

“I can’t help it!” 

Goldcinder touched her arm gently. “Trust me. When you’re ready, you’ll know. That little voice in the back of your head will let you know. Just listen to it. The best way to mess things up is not to listen to it.” 

* * * 

The ship turned for the southern seas, bound for Farthest Isle. Loosestrife boasted that when the winds were kind, the _Mura_ could make the journey in less than an eight-of-days. But the winds disappeared, and as Quicksilver lay sleepless in her hammock, she could not feel the familiar creak of the ship’s timbers. 

“The wind’s your best friend when it’s reliable,” Goldcinder had told her. “The rest of the time, it swoons and dances back and forth like a maiden in love.” 

There was a feeling she understood. Her stomach seemed to be fluttering up and down every time she thought of Suntop. 

She knew she only had to fall asleep and she would be with him again. But sleep was eluding her. She could struggle to force her spirit out of her waking body, but she hadn’t the energy. 

She did not want him to see her like this. 

“You’re too young to know what you want...” Loosestrife had said. 

She knew what she wanted. She wanted Suntop to be hers. Forever. She wanted to be bound to him with all the force of Recognition. She could not bear the thought that he might one day look to someone else. 

No gaudy enchantress they might stumble across – she knew Suntop better than that. But someone... grander than little Quicksilver. Someone who could understand just what Suntop saw in the Scroll of Colours, when all Quicksilver saw was flurries of light. Someone who as much akin to a High One as Suntop himself. 

What had they in common, really? He was a magic-user of the highest level. One day he would surpass the legendary Savah in ability. She was the daughter of Skywise, to be certain, but she knew she would never learn to fly the Palace as her father could. She had no magic in her blood, no special gift. Perhaps the bond they felt between them was only wishful thinking. Hadn’t Dewshine and Scouter played at being lifemates before she Recognized Tyldak and he left the Wolfriders for Sorrow’s End? 

Her head told her she was being ridiculous. But her heart continued to berate her, telling her in no uncertain terms how unworthy she was, how clumsy and foolish, how childish and how painfully ordinary. By the time she finally fell asleep, she was lost in a dreamless oblivion, a world away from the crystal Palace. 

* * * 

After thirteen days at sea, the call from the crow’s nest came. Skipper’s Rock had just been sighted. “Ah, we’re back on track,” Loosestrife said, rubbing his hands together. “Only another day to Farthest Isle now.” 

But the winds still refused to cooperate, and the _Mura_ could only catch intermittent gusts over the waves. Quicksilver picked at her seared fish skeptically. She was beginning to long for a good haunch of red meat. 

Finally Farthest Isle came into view on the horizon. It was only a fifth the size of Green Moon Bay, little more than a pinnacle of rock jutting out of the treacherous waves. As the _Mura_ neared, Quicksilver could make out the caves and burrows that made up its settlement. “Nothing made out of wood, you see,” Treefrog explained. 

She could see why. There wasn’t a single tree on the island. The largest plants were thorny scrub bushes. 

“It’s hardly even an island,” Goldcinder said. “Just the highest point of an old seamount.” 

“Why did they settle here?” she asked. “There are lots of other islands around here. There are even islands further south.” 

“Where?” 

She gestured to the south, the flat horizon. “I know they’re down there. I’ve seen them on the maps.” 

“Mm. A good eight-of-days away with the best of winds. And the wind’s more likely to blow you out to sea. The old epics say we tried to make a life on one of the Lost Islands – I think it was called... oy, Skelter!” Goldcinder turned and barked. “What’s your papa call the lost colony?” 

“Redsand Bay!” Skelter bellowed down from the rigging. 

“Yep, that’s the one. Trees and red powdered sand from the rocks. Good living for three or four small families. But it’s too cold that far south for the big fish. Too cold for our taste for that matter. And the currents make it damn near impossible to set up a good trade route. We all depend on each other to make a good life out here. No one island can last long without trade with the others.” 

“But why Farthest Isle?” 

“Look at those waves pounding the rocks. See all the blowholes and reefs? The bigger fish – the sharks and the daggerteeth – they can’t come into the shallows – the waves would knock them senseless against the rocks. So the little fish are safe in there. And the fishers get the best pickings. But that’s not all. The entire rock is pure obsidian – far sharper than your best brightmetal.” 

“Blackstone,” Quicksilver whispered, using the Wolfrider name. 

“We trade that all over the Islands – and with the trolls and humans too. And we keep the fishers and knappers here well stocked with wood in exchange.” 

It wasn’t until low tide that the _Mura_ could risk coming close to shore. Even then the ship had nowhere to dock. Instead the pirates put out their little boat and ferried trade goods back and forth from the island. 

“Let’s go with them,” Treefrog said. But Quicksilver shook her head. She didn’t have enough confidence in her sea legs to try the journey. Even at low tide, the waves were vicious, and the boat’s crew had to row the little craft through several dangerous riptides to reach the black sand beach. So she stayed aboard ship, watching the Farthest Islanders emerging from their caves and cliffs to greet the pirates. They were all solidly built and extremely agile as they bounded over the rocks. Some of the younger elves moved across their island by use of long bamboo poles they used to vault over tidal pools – another trade item from the richer islands to the north. 

“You can’t afford to be idle out here,” Loosestrife told her. “It’s a rough life. Not for me. But they like it out here – like the challenge of it.” 

“We can’t all be as lazy as you,” Quicksilver teased. 

“Lazy? I’d like you see you try to run the _Mura_ for a day, pip!” 

* * * 

After an afternoon at Farthest Isle, the ship turned northeast. “We’re bound for the Southern Coves now,” Loosestrife announced as he told on the bow, breezing in the salty spray. “Vantage Rock’s barely a day’s sail away.” 

They reached Vantage Rock early the next morning. In contrast to Farthest Isle, it was a gently sloping table of green land surrounded by shallow reefs. As before, the _Mura_ could not find a place to dock, but this time the gentle sandbanks and delicate corals were to blame. This time Quicksilver did ride in the boat, only to hop out in waist-deep water at the bidding of a half-dozen excited mer-elves. 

The contrast to Farthest Isle was marked. These elves were taller, slim and soft-skinned. Many of them sported flesh-shaped adaptations such as fins on their legs. Life was easy at Vantage Rock. Shellfish farming and land-based agriculture were their staples. None of them were used to deep-sea fishing or hunting – there was no need. But as with Farthest Isles, their settlement was not composed of wooden huts, but of rocks caves and stone masonry. 

“Why don’t they built huts like yours?” Quicksilver asked. “They have more than enough wood.” 

“They’re on the east coast,” Loosestrife said cryptically. Quicksilver mulled it over for several moments before her eyes lit up with comprehension. 

“The hurricanes.” 

“Every summer, without fail. Green Moon Bay is protected by the other islands and Crest Point. Down here, there’s nothing to hold back the winds. It’s just easier to build in stone.” 

They traded obsidian spearpoints and troll-gold for large seashells and wicker baskets filled with dried fruit. At sundown the mer-elves held a great feast of shellfish and elaborate vegetarian dishes on the tabletop of rock overlooking the main beach. A precious amount of their blast-rock powder was burned on the beach to create an fountain of colourful sparks. Quicksilver jumped at the bursts of light and the hissing, crackling sounds. 

“You’re not used to it, are you?” Treefrog asked her. Quicksilver shook her head. 

As the moons rose overhead, the party escalated, frantic drumbeats echoing over the island as the mer-elves rose to dance with all the grace of the athletic Sun Folk. 

**Think little Sea Star is looking to you,** Loosestrife locksent. Quicksilver glanced over at the teenage redhead staring at her hopefully. Quicksilver lowered her eyes bashfully. 

**Go for it,** Loosestrife prodded. **Dancing’s not the same as joining.** 

**Close enough.** Quicksilver shook her head. 

**Will you dance with me, at least.** 

Quicksilver smiled, leaning forward to lace her hands around her ankles. **Not tonight, I don’t think.** 

They stayed at Vantage Rock for another three days, sleeping off the rum hangovers and replenishing their stores of fish and fresh water. On the morning of the fourth day, Quicksilver awoke to find the _Mura_ already pulling out to sea. Loosestrife greeted her sleepy scowl with a grin. 

“Better get cleaned up, pip. We’re going to meet your old friends.” 

“What?” 

“Jewel Cove is the next port of call. And I’m sure Brill is just aching to see you again.”


	3. Part Three

The home of Brill and Surge proved to be just as alien as Quicksilver had imagined. It seemed like a waterbound Blue Mountain. Dominating the view from the ship was a great holt made of stone caves and terraces, looking nothing so much like a diluted approximation of the Palace that Quicksilver wondered whether all elves retained some racial memory of the High One’s home. 

The cove in which the _Mura_ docked was sheltered by a great wall of coral and rock, shaped into jagged pinnacles to hold back the waves. Quicksilver winced as she watched the ship maneuver in between the towers at one of the two small gaps in the wall. The ship barely cleared the two coral spires that rose several feet above the waves on either side of the hull. 

“Can’t have their precious kelp beds damaged by an errant storm – much less risk one of their maidens to a passing shark,” Loosestrife chuckled. “One of Surge’s brilliant ideas. You watch yourself around him. Ever since his lifemate was lost at sea, he’s liable to get riled up over anything.” 

In contrast to the other islands they had visited, Quicksilver saw no elves racing forward to meet them – with one exception. A single maiden, devoid of any flesh-shaping, was bounding across the rock-and-coral breakwater. She paused on a rock outcropping and waved. 

“Ahoy, pirates!” her clear voice carried over the wind. “Got any good spearpoints to share?” 

“Only the best brightmetal for you, Krill!” Treefrog shouted back cheerfully. “I hope your harvest is in. Captain’ll make you pay through your pretty nose for them!” 

The cove itself was deep, and there was a dock built of rockshaped coral where the _Mura_ could set in. Now more mer-elves were arriving to greet the pirates, all heavily shaped. The sailors had scarcely thrown their lines to the waiting elves when the Speaker himself rose from the water. A great column of foaming seawater bore up and set him gingerly on the dock. 

“Close your mouth, ‘Silver,” Loosestrife whispered when Quicksilver stared agape. 

Her uncle had been right. Surge seemed scarcely elfin to her eyes. His skin was burnished leather over bone and sinew, his only clothing lengths of kelp and seashells. His legs and arms were decorated with iridescent fins, and his fingers were webbed. But those cosmetic shapings seemed trivial compared to his face. 

He had no hair; in its place he sported a great crest that shimmered with iridescent hues much like the dorsal fin of a silversail. Where a Wolfrider might have facefur, he had fan-shaped fins – they were his ears, she realized belatedly; ears stretched out into great shells of cartilage. Even his eyebrows were fins, not hair. 

“And I thought Tyldak was flesh-shaped...” Quicksilver murmured as Loosestrife gave her a nudge down the gangplank. She knew from now on she would regard the winged elf as positively ordinary. 

“Now watch yourself,” he whispered. “I have a feeling Surge won’t be too happy to see us this year.” 

Surge remained standing at the far end of the dock, arms crossed over his chest. It seemed Loosestrife would have to come to him. Quicksilver followed closely behind her uncle as he strode up to the Speaker. 

“Surge. I assume everything’s in order–” 

“I marvel you dare show your face here, pirate! After the dishonour your kin showed to my niece!” 

Sure enough, Brill was waiting on the beach several paces behind her uncle. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of Quicksilver. “That’s her,” Brill whispered. “The Wuf-raidor.” 

“Come now, Surge,” Loosestrife said reasonably. “You know your little limpet is no negotiator. You’ve have done better to send Krill up north – she has the tough skin for the game of trade–” 

Surge swung his finned arm through the air. “First you insult my line with your unacceptable terms! Then you allow your wayward tribe to insult my niece. And now, you bring this shame!” he pointed to Quicksilver, who recoiled under the force of “A dry-lander elf! You brought one of those half-savage Wuf-raidors here? To our sanctuary?” 

“You watch yourself!” Loosestrife warned. “This is my sister’s pip.” 

“Wolfrider!” Quicksilver insisted. “We ride wolves.” 

“And what is a wuf?” 

“Giant beasts, uncle!” Brill interjected. “I saw one at Green Moon Bay. Great shaggy creatures with horrible fangs. Like the dogs the pirates and the humans keep – but much much larger!” 

“Big enough to snap an elf in two,” Loosestrife added unhelpfully. 

“Why not just bring a human here?” Surge raged. “Young fool! What’s to keep more of these wuf-elves to come here with their beasts and their lander ways? And what’s to keep the humans of the Point from following them?” 

“Surge – for the love of Mura–” 

“Time and again the world beyond our Islands has proved it cannot be trusted! Is there one among us who does not mourn for one who was lost for venturing beyond the safety of the reefs? I may never see my only grandson again. And you - where are you parents now? Bones in some human camp, for all we know!” 

“You leave my parents out of this–” 

“You can extend the hand of friendship to humans and lander elves if you will. But Jewel Cove is a sanctuary for our kind. I will not allow you to bring the world’s dangers here!” 

“The dangers of the world... never keeps you from trading for troll-metal and trinkets, do you?” 

“Do not change the subject, pirate. You take that... lander elf!” – he might as well have said, “thing” – “and you put her back inside your ship. I’ll not trade with you while she walks on our island!” 

“Then I’ll not trade with you at all!” Loosestrife shot back. Abruptly he turned around. “Pull in the lines, lads!” he barked. “We’re weighing anchor! Next year, Surge. Maybe you’ll learn some manners by then.” 

“Uncle – maybe...” 

“Come on, ‘Silver. We’re going. The _Mura_ can get by just fine with the ropes from Vantage Rock!” he shouted over his shoulder for Surge’s benefit. “And I hear Shark Cove is trying to farm a new, larger conch.” 

“You dare not! We have a trade agreement with your sister–” 

“Watch me.” 

“Leave now and Jewel Cove will never trade with you again!” 

“Suits me fine.” 

Surge’s face was a mask of rage. He sputtered wordlessly as he watched Loosestrife march away, hustling Quicksilver alongside him. 

“You’ll leave without even sharing a draught with the Speaker?” Surge shouted, a last attempt. “Have you no honour?” 

Loosestrife hesitated, weighing his words. He met Quicksilver’s gaze and winked. 

At length he turned around. “It is a hot day.” 

“Then we are agreed?” Surge asked. 

“’Silver stays.” 

“I’ll not have a strange elf wandering about my shores.” 

“I will entertain the little Wuf-raidor,” Brill offered diplomatically. She smiled on Quicksilver. “Did you not bring your friend with you? The golden-haired twin?” 

“He’s not here,” Quicksilver said in a clipped tone. 

Brill smiled sadly. “And I’d so hoped he would come to meet my sister. Did you keep him penned up at Green Moon Bay, little pirate?” 

Quicksilver’s hackles rose. “Don’t call me that.” 

“You misunderstand me. I do not mean to mock you, for children are so dear to us. Come, the pips are all playing skip-stone down the beach,” she offered. “I’m sure little Tumble and Puffer would welcome a playmate. Oh, do not worry, uncle. I will keep an eye on her–” 

And Brill coughed suddenly as a spray of sand caught her square in the face. 

“How dare you?!” Surge barked. “Loosestrife, control the child!” 

Quicksilver only shrugged, Skywise’s own snide smirk plastered on her face. 

Brill turned and spat out sand as gracefully as she could. 

“I’m going back to the ship now, uncle,” Quicksilver said, affecting a child’s chirp. “There’s nothing fun to do here.” She glanced at Surge and kicked up a second spray of sand into his face. 

Surge sputtered loudly. Quicksilver turned and walked back to the ship with a new spring in her step. 

“Are all you Wuf-raiders such ill-mannered wretches?” Surge shouted to her back. 

Quicksilver walked on, head held high. 

Surge tried to wipe the sand from his face. But his hand was wet too, and he only smeared the sand around. Brill had to giggle at his stormy expression. 

“I’m not done speaking to you!” Surge called. 

“Well, I’m done with you!” Quicksilver shouted back. 

She walked up the gangplank to the applause of Goldcinder and the _Mura’s_ crew. 

* * * 

**I saw Brill again,** Quicksilver sent that night. 

Suntop’s spirit self shuddered. **She didn’t bother you, did she?** 

**Not really.** Quicksilver couldn’t help but add with a smirk, **She asked after you.** 

**She frightens me. Did you see the way she started... stalking me?** 

**I was there, remember?** 

**Felt like a deer being hunted.** 

**Well, you are choice prey.** 

**Did she think I was going to Recognize her or something just because she’s a twin too?** Again his spirit blushed in discomfort and shuddered. **And I thought the Sun maidens were obvious. You’re sure she – what? Why are you... you’re glowing, ‘Silver. What is it?** 

Quicksilver fought to hold in the wide grin that had overtaken her spirit self, and found she could not. *Nothing.... I love you, that’s all.** 

* * * 

“Shark Cove’s just across the way,” Treefrog pointed out the nearby island. “We’ll drop anchor before evening.” 

“Shark Cove...” Quicksilver murmured. 

“Swarms of them,” Skelter teased as he passed by. “Bloodthirsty devils...” 

“Don’t worry,” Treefrog reassured her. “They’re only black-tips and prongheads. They stay in the outer reefs – keep to themselves.” 

“Those prongheads can take off an elf’s arm like that!” Skelter snapped his fingers for emphasis. 

“But oddly enough, you’ll never see an elf in Shark Cove swimming around with only one arm.” 

Skelter shrugged. “’Course. They have a healer.” 

They docked at Shark Cove to the warm greetings of the mer-elves. In contrast to surly Surge – who had eventually accepted another three brightmetal spearheads as a salve for his wounded pride – the Speaker of Shark Cove as gentle and soft-spoken as old Ekuar. His name was Salt, and he seemed as old as a Glider. It was with some difficulty that he came up onto the dock to speak to the pirates, for in place of legs he sported a long purple tale. After exchanging pleasantries with Loosestrife, he was visibly relieved to take to the water again. 

**Doesn’t he shape his legs back?** Quicksilver asked her uncle. 

**Word is he’s forgotten how. Or maybe he does at the end of the day, and the Cove Folk just like to tell stories.** 

A lanky golden-haired elf with a strange pattern of raised scales over his face and shoulders came up to Loosestrife and greeted him with a solid clasp of hands. 

“Snakeskin. So you still haven’t gone back to the bubbles at Jewel Cove.” 

“Am I likely to, pirate? Not while my father rules over that pitiful lot of limpets.” 

“You’ve seen their new breakwater, then?” 

“Paugh! Pathetic, overwary creatures. He teaches the young pips to live in fear of anything beyond their reefs. Mother would weep to see what’s become of the Cove. I pray one day the landers take to the waves in their little canoes and pay Surge a visit. It might just snap him to life.” 

“Surge is a sleeping thunderstorm. I don’t know if I’d want to wake him up.” 

“True enough.” Snakeskin’s brooding expression grew softer. He gave Quicksilver a gentle nod, then put a hand on Loosestrife’s shoulder to lead him away down the dock. 

“Tell me...” he whispered. “Has there been any news of my son?” 

Loosestrife shook his head. “No.” He shrugged awkwardly. “You know how it is. Some of us, we get the wanderlust in our blood. He’s probably up in the Green River somewhere, learning how to talk to landers.” 

“I hope not. Not all landers are as harmless as your pets.” Snakeskin looked down the length of the dock. His lifemate Longfin was waiting on the beach, gazing out hopefully over the dock. 

“His mother worries...” Snakeskin murmured. 

“He’ll resurface,” Loosestrife insisted. 

“Surge considers him lost. Blames me for losing his only grandson.” He looked out over the water. “Perhaps he’s right. I left Jewel Cove because I could not bear to raise a child under Surge’s heavy hand. I raised my son not to fear the world beyond our reefs. When he sought to explore, I gave him my blessing. Perhaps... it is my fault.” 

“Don’t you believe it.” Loosestrife told Snakeskin firmly. “Wavecatcher will return. He’s just taking his sweet time, that’s all. You’ll see.” 

* * * 

“Do you think Snakeskin’s son will come home?” Quicksilver asked him later after she had extracted the entire tale from him. 

“Dunno. Fifty years... ought to be more than long enough to an elf to come up for air. But then again... you never know.” 

“I could ask Suntop to look in the Scroll for him. We could find out if–” 

Loosestrife shook his head. “Leave it.” 

“But if he’s alive and somewhere, we could take Snakeskin to visit him. I told you – distance is meaningless now.” 

“And if Suntop finds out he’s dead?” 

“Then... wouldn’t Snakeskin want to know?” 

“And lose hope? And blame himself for letting the boy go off by himself? Haven’t you ever wondered why your mother’s never asked Skywise or Suntop to find your grandfather in the scroll?” 

Quicksilver flinched, ashamed to admit she had never considered it. Savin often spoke of her memories of Eastwaker, but never spoke of his disappearance. Like many others, Quicksilver had always considered the matter resolved. 

“As long as she doesn’t know for sure, she can still hope,” Loosestrife continued. “She can tell herself that he’s hiding in a cave somewhere, or maybe bundled up in that wrapping-web-stuff and asleep for a hundred years. But the moment she knows... and it’s not what she’s hoping to hear – then that’s it. So you leave her her hope. And you leave Snakeskin his.” 

“What about you, Loosestrife? You believe in your heart that Grandfather is gone. But doesn’t it gnaw at you that he might be alive? And your mother, too? Don’t you want to know for certain?” 

“No,” Loosestrife shook his head. 

“Why? If you have no hope...” 

Loosestrife smiled wanly. “Maybe... maybe there’s some hope left after all. Who knows... there might even be some hope for you, little pip.” 

* * * 

The ship was becalmed again on the return voyage. The crew spent the time competing in various contests. Challengers tried to best Treefrog in a race up the rigging, or hold their breaths longer than Mimic. Idleness overtook even the most disciplined elf, and Skelter teased Quicksilver ruthlessly whenever he caught her spending too much time studying the rigging. 

“Relax. The sails aren’t going anywhere in this weather.” 

After five days sweltering heat and scarcely a breeze, a favourable wind began to blow. Quicksilver was manning the rigging at the mizzenmast with Spider when Goldcinder gave the call. “This is the one we’ve been waiting for! Hoist the sails! Look alive back there, Spider. Get that mizzen staysail ready!” 

“One side, pip,” Spider said, as she set to work on the rigging. 

“I can help!” Quicksilver insisted. “I’ve been on this ship long enough.” 

“Look, it’s just easier if I do it. You heard ‘Cinder – this needs doing quickly. If we can’t catch this breeze–” 

Quicksilver fumed silently as the taller maiden went to work on the sheet, relying on the complex set of pulleys and blocks to bear the weight of the canvas as she winch the sail into position. With nothing else to do, Quicksilver gazed idly over the knots holding the other lines in place. She named them off in her head. Bowline. Double bowline. Sheet bend. Dancing troll. Reef. 

“What a minute...” 

“Ugh... what is it, ‘Silver?” Spider called over her shoulder. 

“This line – it’s a reef knot!” 

“So?” Spider still wasn’t looking. 

“So it’s one of the main lines–” 

“Good way to collapse the sail–” 

“No!” Quicksilver searched her brain, trying to remember the multitude of ship’s terminology. “I mean it’s one of the main lines!” she stammered out. “It won’t hold if you hoist any higher!” Knowing Spider would not pay her warning any heed, she seized Spider’s arm and yanked her around to face the offending knot. “It’s supposed to be a bowline!” she exclaimed. 

Spider stared at the knot, then followed the line of rigging with her eyes up into the sails. “Damn.” 

“Spider! What’s the hold-up?” Goldcinder shouted. 

“Bad rigging!” Spider shouted back. “Here. Take the rope, ‘Silver. Hold on tight, now. Don’t worry. The pulleys will take the weight off your arm.” 

Quicksilver seized the thick rope and winced as she felt the weight of the canvas sail tug at her arms. The wooden block pulleys did not relieve her of all the burden. Quicksilver looked up at the great folds of canvas shivering in the air overhead. She felt the rope jerk with each flap of the breeze. 

She did not know how close the sail had come to collapse until Loosestrife and Goldcinder called the sailors to account. 

“I did not tie that knot!” Spider insisted. “It must have been Cavey. Or Skelter–” 

“I don’t care who tied it!” Goldcinder barked, his gentle manner evaporated. “It was your responsibility to check the lines before you started to work.” 

**She’s not going to be in trouble, is she?** Quicksilver asked Treefrog. **I should have looked at the knots before myself.** 

**Don’t worry about it. Captain and Goldcinder will chew her out. Then we’ll get on with it.** 

Sure enough, the incident was not spoken of again, although Spider was moved to work below deck, and Quicksilver promoted to work up in the rigging with her cousin Treefrog. 

“You’ve got good eyes,” he told her. “I could never learn to tell one line from the other until I was nearly twice your age.” 

That night Quicksilver received another invitation to dine with her uncles. “Whew. Twice in one sailing,” Skelter whispered appreciatively. “Someone’s the Captain’s new pet.” 

When Quicksilver returned to her hammock that night, she swore someone had replaced her old blanket with a newer, softer one. 

* * * 

“Land!” Quicksilver shouted down from the crow’s nest. 

“About damn time!” someone shouted back up from below. “How’s Eastward looking?” 

“Clear skies and high surf,” Quicksilver called over the wind that whipped her hair about her face. 

“Come on down,” Goldcinder told her. “You’ll burn if you stay up there much longer.” 

Quicksilver caught the long guide rope and looped it once about her leather boot. She slid down the rope to the deck, and hopped down from the rigging daintily. 

“Look at the monkey,” one of the sailors laughed. “You’d think she had been doing this all her life.” 

“She’s a natural,” Treefrog said, throwing an arm around her shoulders for a quick hug. 

“It’s not that much different from climbing through the Grandfather Tree,” Quicksilver shrugged. “Although we don’t have anything like that slide on the rope there. I should talk to Yun about it when I get home. We could rig one up.” 

Treefrog smiled sadly. “We’re all going to miss you on the ship.” 

“I’ve got a ship of my own to get back to,” Quicksilver said. 

* * * 

If the Southern Coves were the Sorrow’s End of the Islands, all agriculture and easy living that bred timidity, then Eastward Isle was the home of the Islander Go-Backs. The tattooed inhabitants spent their working days spear-fishing off the reefs and spent their leisure hours catching waves on their long wooden surfboards. Hurricane season was still another month or two away, but the surf was already rising at Eastward, and after trade was concluded, the crew of the _Mura_ took to the beaches. There Quicksilver found herself quickly befriended by a Islander named Spine. 

“So this is a lander elf,” Spine chuckled, looking her over. 

“Half a lander,” Quicksilver replied. “Half a pirate.” 

“And not half as fearsome as the old tales say.” 

“How do you get your hair to grow like that?” she asked, indicated the plume of brown hair that stood at attention down the center of his head. “Healer-shaped?” 

“Naw. Just a sharp blade and a lot of wax. You surf?” 

“Never learned how. But I love to spear-fish.” 

“That’s toil. It’s time to play. Come on. Let’s see if we can find you a board. Pity it’s not the season for whales. I could show you how to ride their wakes.” 

“Hey, now! Don’t you drown my cousin, Spine!” Treefrog warned. 

Her first attempt to lie on the board as the waves crest beneath her left her bruised and sand-covered. By the second day, she had learned how to ride the wave like a seal. By the third day she tried kneeling on the wooden board, steering over the breaking wave by leaning from one side to the other. By the end of their eight-of-days on Eastward, she was standing up. 

* * * 

“You’ve changed, pip,” Loosestrife said as they left Eastward Isle behind them. “And I don’t just mean how you’ve learned the ropes on the ship. You’re carrying yourself differently. Everyone can see it.” 

“Differently? How?” 

“Not half as... breathless, for one thing. Steadier. Calmer.” 

“I feel steady,” Quicksilver nodded. “I feel... I’m sorting things out.” She breathed in the saltspray. “So, where now? Greywake?” 

“Not. One more stop first. It’s time to pay our friends the humans another visit.” 

* * * 

The _Lady Mura_ anchored in the same cove just beyond the first human village they had raided over a moon before. Quicksilver helped her uncles lay out a collection of knicknacks on a simple piece of cloth. Painted seashells from Eastward Isle. Crude coral carvings from the pips of Jewel Cove. The wooden spools that once had held the gold wire Brill had so desperately bartered for. Woven palm fronds and shiny pebbles dotted in white paint. One piece of gold wire, as long as an elf’s arm, topped the pile. 

**Spirit totems,** Loosestrife explained. 

**So you take worthless trinkets from the trolls, trade them for riches which you share among yourselves, and then dump new worthless trinkets on the humans?** 

**The trolls are happy – they think they’re swindling us! The humans are happy – they think they’re blessed by the spirits! And most of all, we’re very very happy.** 

They heard the sound of bare feet on damp earth, and they looked up. A small human child was watching them from the doorway to a hut. Loosestrife beckoned the child closer, but she shook her head, grinning. 

Loosestrife put his finger to his lips. The child mirrored his expression, then scampered back into the hut. 

* * * 

The _Mura_ caught a breeze back to Greywake just long enough to deposit the small community’s due portion of the booty. The sun was beginning to set behind them as the _Mura_ returned home, rich with its own share of the trade season. Torches were already lit on Race Rock, and lantern-bearing outriggers outlined the navigation channel back to the dock. Quicksilver smelled roasted meat and the sulphurous tang of blast-rock powder in the air. 

“Look at you!” Gullwing exclaimed as she embraced her granddaughter. “Sun-kissed and wind-burned. And you smell of saltspray through and through. You look like a proper pirate.” 

Quicksilver searched the crowd of well-wishers, but she could not see Suntop. 

Tradition dictated a great celebration to welcome the heroes of the _Mura_ back. The feast was held on Race Rock, as fire fountains burned on the rocks and frenetic drumbeats filled the night air. Quicksilver gratefully swapped her worn sailor’s shirt and skirt for a new cloth dress she hitched up above her knees in front and let fall long behind her. She downed mug after mug of sweet coconut milk and rum as the pirates toasted their newest crewmate. This time she did not decline the lads’ offers to dance. 

By midnight the rum was flowing, and her senses were addled by the combined scents of rich food and the pounding beat of the drums. Everything was moving faster than life. Even the stars overhead seemed to be spinning. She could scarcely catch her breath as she spun from one partner to another. 

And then she saw Suntop at the edge of the crowd. 

He was hanging half in shadow, bashful. But she spotted him instantly by his golden hair and the intensity in his stare as he followed her dance. 

She left her dancing partners behind and waded through the crowd, oddly dazed. The world that had been spinning so rapidly had just slammed to a halt, and she was stumbling to regain her footing. 

“Where have you been?” she managed to whisper. 

“This is your night,” he said. “I did not want to intrude. ‘Silver...” his voice caught his throat. “You look...” 

She broke across the distance that separated them and kissed him full on the mouth. 

* * * 

The celebration went on long into the night and the early morning hours. As dawn began to creep over the island, the loudest of the elves were still dancing and feasting. No one thought anything of it when the newest crewmember of the _Lady Mura_ disappeared from the rocks with her lovemate. And when the last of the Race Rocks pirates dragged themselves down the cave passages to seek their own beds, no one noticed that Quicksilver’s door was already shut and barred. 

Quicksilver rolled over to sleepily regard her lovemate, and smiled up at him from under a curtain of disordered silver hair. Suntop smoothed her hair back from her forehead to kiss her temple. In response, Quicksilver snuggled against him with a contented murmur. The journey was over. The time for waiting was past. She was home in her lovemate’s arms. 

**Hmm... Malin...** she sent without thinking. 

Her eyes snapped open, meeting Suntop’s astonished gaze.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out the full EQ Alternaverse at http://www.janesenese.com/swiftverse


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